


Helpless

by ThatMasterOnline



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 08:57:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20905022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatMasterOnline/pseuds/ThatMasterOnline
Summary: Crowley has his power sapped by an unknown entity, Aziraphale worries. Blood-drinking, guilt, and nesting ensue. Really, what more could you ask for? Chapter two is pure smut.





	1. Chapter 1

It happened on a Thursday morning. Aziraphale had been having a quiet morning, having opened his bookshop and welcomed quite a few customers inside already. That was to be expected on days like today, when the rain was pouring as it was. People would rather browse a bookshop with no real intention to buy than wander outside in the pouring rain. Aziraphale was happy to let them wander inside, content to make pleasant conversation and read, and sell the occasional book if something piqued a customer's interest. (There seemed to be a rumour going around that Aziraphale didn't actually want to sell books at his bookshop, which was preposterous. It was a bookshop, what was the purpose of a bookshop if not to let people  _ shop  _ for  _ books _ ? At any rate, he was trying his hardest to dispel that unpleasant rumour) At shortly after eleven in the morning, just after he'd sold a children's book to a young mother, he got a phone call.

"Angel…" 

"Crowley?" Crowley sounded...barely there, and Aziraphale felt an uncomfortable pang of fear at the sound of his voice. "My dear boy, are you alright?"

"Can you...find me, angel?"

"Find you?" Aziraphale closed his eyes, focusing on Crowley's distinct aura. He could feel it, thin and faint, but definitely present. "Yes, yes, I can sense you, I'm on my way, Crowley, stay right where you are." He waited for a response, but he never got one, which only added to the heaviness settling in his stomach. He hung up the phone and, realizing he'd temporarily forgotten himself and talked about sensing and auras in front of customers, used a quick miracle to make everyone remember a conversation about a car accident and a relative in the hospital. He ushered them out, closed up shop, then spread his wings and followed the thin trail of Crowley's aura.

When he arrived, he found nothing. Not nothing in the "barren, no signs of life" sense of the word, but nothing in the "everything was normal" sense. It was a city park. The vegetation was still there, there was no evil residue. The only strange thing was that there was nobody there, but that in itself was perfectly normal. Everybody had likely been scared off, as a pest control crew was currently scooping up an overlarge but seemingly tranquilized snake, and people tended to run from...wait...

"Crowley!" He bustled up to them, miracling papers into his hand.

"So sorry, gentlemen, my niece let him out when I wasn't looking, she wanted to play with him, and I've been looking for him for ages, look, here are the adoption papers, it's all perfectly legal, I-I saved him from being euthanized at a shelter, he's a shelter python!" People often bragged about that sort of thing, so why not. The two men carefully inspected the papers, and Aziraphale shamelessly used a miracle to persuade them to see things his way.

"Well...Alright. Don't let this happen again, alright?"

"Absolutely, gentlemen," Aziraphale said, bobbing his head as he picked up the limp snake, "I intend to have a stern talk with my niece, she is-she is in so much trouble, I'll ground her for a month! I assure you, this will  _ not _ be happening again. Good day to you both." And then he turned around and walked away, leaving the two gentlemen metaphorically scratching their heads.

When he finally made it home he deposited Crowley on the carpet and started up a fire. His normally glossy (or well, they had been glossy the one and only time he'd seen Crowley as a snake, so he assumed that's how they always were) scales were dull, and his skin was peeling away in places. His eyes were unfocused, which likely meant he was sleeping, but Aziraphale knew that was from the tranquilizer. For now, there was nothing to do but wait until he woke up, and then Crowley could tell him exactly what had happened and what he needed. Simple as that. Not a problem. And yet, Aziraphale felt an undercurrent of fear that he knew wouldn't be dispelled until Crowley had woken.

It was hours before Crowley woke and sluggishly moved, though only to curl himself into a more comfortable position.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale tried tentatively, and the snake moved its head to look at him. They locked eyes, and Aziraphale was struck with the utter lack of recognition in the snake's eyes. There was wariness under the still-lifting fog of anaesthesia, unsure of who the angel was and whether he meant the demon any harm. He swallowed and tried again.

"Crowley, my dear, where are you hurt? Do you need food, water, warmth…? Anything you need, anything at all, I'll give it to you, just tell me what you need." The snake stared at him then turned away, clearly deciding that the angel wasn't worth its notice. 

"Crowley…?" He tried again, but the snake ignored him. Could it be? Could Crowley truly not remember him? What had happened? Was Crowley injured? He didn't appear to be… If Aziraphale focused, he could sense that this was indeed Crowley, but his presence was very weak. He didn't know what to do. Perhaps...perhaps a vet? It was early enough, and the clinic across town would miraculously have a break in patients, leaving them free to attend to Crowley. Yes, that was it. He scooped the snake into his arms, ignoring the warning hiss he got.

"It's alright, Crowley dear, I'm just going to take you to a vet. I want to see if there's anything they can do." Crowley relaxed then, clearly knowing that no human vet could ever hurt him. Sighing, Aziraphale let Crowley rest in a little container he'd miracled into existence, then went to the vet.

***

"Crowley Fell, then?" Crowley...Fell? Well, yes, if he was Mr. Arthur Zachary Fell and Crowley was his pet, then he was part of the family, but still...Crowley Fell...Well, it was strange, that was all.

"Come on in, Crowley," the nurse cooed, "Let's see what's got you so under the weather, hmm?" When the vet came in she took Crowley out of his container and laid him on the special bed.

"Oh dear, he does look a little sickly, doesn't he? Did something happen?"

"Well, my niece let him out of his home earlier today, and by the time I found him he'd made it to the park and had been tranquilized by pest control, and...well, he looked like this. I brought him in straight away." ...More or less.

"Strange…" the vet said, "He's shedding a little bit, definitely looks a bit sickly…"

"Could you make sure he isn't...underfed or short on water or anything? I'm...a bit of a first-time owner," he added, to cover up the obvious next question of  _ how could you underfeed your snake?  _ The vet checked, but shook her head.

"No, no, he's perfectly fine in that regard. Looks like he could just be stressed from his outing. He's definitely weak, so just take him home and let him rest, and bring him back if he starts to look any worse, alright?"

"Of course, thank you so much." Aziraphale stood, paid the vet fee, and then left. Of course, he hadn't learned anything he didn't already know, but on the other side of that coin, at least there was nothing else wrong with Crowley. Perhaps he was just weak and needed time to rest. As he eyed Crowley in his carrier, he thought he caught something that might have been perceived as an eye roll. It gave Azirapale hope. At least his sassy demon was still in there somewhere. And yet...and yet...why didn't he recognize him?

Back at the shop, Aziraphale let Crowley out of the carrier where, no doubt done with being poked and prodded, he slithered up onto a windowsill and headed off to sleep. When Crowley woke, Aziraphale miracled a mouse right in front of the snake, one that was quickly eaten before it could recover from the shock. 

"Would you like a second?" Aziraphale asked hopefully, but Crowley just went back to sleep. 

Day bled into evening, and Aziraphale settled down with a book and a mug of cocoa while Crowley napped in the windowsill. He was engrossed in his book - a lovely novel, fairly recent, about a hobbit's journey to destroy an evil ring. He was trying to read some newer classics. Not looking away from his book, Aziraphale blindly reached for his mug of cocoa - a plain mug tonight, not his angel wing one. Fingers bumped porcelain, and before he could pull his hand back the mug had shattered on the ground, complete with cocoa seeping everywhere. He could miracle it away, but that would be frivolous indeed. Miracles for Crowley's sake were one thing, but a broken mug was hardly an emergency. He would sweep up the pieces and thank his lucky stars he hadn't been drinking from his prized angel wing mug like a normal human. 

He took the little broom and got down on his knees, gingerly picking up the large pieces so they wouldn't shatter into smaller pieces when he tried to sweep them up. His fingers wrapped around a fairly sizeable chunk, but he wasn't careful enough and the next thing he knew he had a fairly sizeable chunk missing from his hand, one that was seeping golden ichor.

"Oh, bugger all," he cursed with a tsk, then sighed and stood. He hardly had any need for a first aid kit usually, so he had nothing but a spare cloth to stop the bleeding, and he was moments away from turning to get it when he was stopped by a rapidly climbing pressure on his right leg. Crowley had slipped off his perch on the windowsill and was now wrapped around his body, head at eye level. He looked into Aziraphale's face for a moment, but then his head dipped down and his snout pressed gently at Aziraphale's fingers, nudging them apart. A small forked tongue slipped out, lapping at the golden blood on his hands, and Aziraphale shivered at the sensation, feeling a warm glow blossom in his chest. 

"You  _ do  _ remember me," he said to no one in particular. Crowley for his part ignored Aziraphale, focused on lapping up every drop of blood he could find. Aziraphale was caught between physical and emotional sensations fighting for dominance, the warmth of the sheer certainty that Crowley remembered him and was tending to his wound as the demon would in human form, and the pleasant, feather-light, tingling sensation of Crowley's forked tongue lapping at his oversensitive, injured palm in quick, short intervals.

"Oh, you  _ do  _ remember me," he breathed again, almost reverently, and yet he was ignored again. His left hand, the one that Crowley wasn't tending to, twisted somewhat awkwardly to pet the scales on the snake. There seemed to be a second of pause, and then that part of Crowley's body arched up into the touch, his mouth never leaving Aziraphale's wound. Crowley was pushing against the wound, his snout pressed against Aziraphale's palm in his eagerness to lap up the blood. Crowley licked and lapped at the blood until finally the wound stopped bleeding. Only then did he pull away, pull back, and look Aziraphale straight in the eye, bright yellow irises somehow brighter than usual. Despite Crowley tending to his wound, when they locked eyes Aziraphale still saw that same lack of recognition.

_ He still doesn't know who I-  _ Aziraphale began, but the thought was cut short, and a curious sort of calm settled over him. His eyes fluttered, and Aziraphale smiled fondly, wrapping his arms around Crowley to support him and walking to the bedroom.

"I think you and I ought to spend the night together," he said, airily, as though he were lost in a pleasant daydream and completely unaware that he was speaking at all. Crowley slithered off of Aziraphale and onto the bed, and Aziraphale got changed into comfortable, if somewhat outdated-looking, pyjamas. Once changed he turned toward the bed, and something had changed. It took him considerably, suspiciously longer than it should have to register that the "something" was that the snake was now a human, laying on his side under the covers and resting on an elbow. He was eyeing the angel in front of him with bedroom eyes, which was further evidence to Crowley being  _ not himself _ , but Aziraphale was too far gone to notice a subtle difference like that.

"...Crowley," Aziraphale cooed warmly, and Crowley's eyes widened, as though surprised Aziraphale was speaking to him at all, and he blinked. His smile returned though, full of promise.

"Angel…" he purred, "Sleep with me tonight." Aziraphale flushed.

"Sleep? But Crowley, what happened? That call, and I found you in the park, and-"

"Shhhh…" Crowley soothed, patting the spot next to him, "Lie down, relax, take a load off. I'm not explaining anything until you're right here beside me." Aziraphale smiled like he was trying to fight the curve of his lips, cheeks flushing pleasantly, eyes flickering between the floor and Crowley's face almost the same way they had when the demon had miracled that paint stain off his jacket.

"Well, this is awfully forward of you, Crowley…" he began, but he certainly didn't seem to be protesting, only bashful. In any case, he stepped forward and kneeled on the bed, not able to meet Crowley's eyes. It was sweet, almost virgin-like, one might say. When he was close enough Crowley reached up, almost equally hesitant while still trying to maintain that air of seduction, and ran his fingers through Aziraphale's hair. 

"Lie down, angel." He lifted the blanket invitingly and patted the space between them, "Under the covers." Still flushed, Aziraphale complied, curling up on his side next to Crowley, who smiled, stroked his cheek once, then rolled them over so he was straddling Aziraphale's hips.

"Crowley, I- This is very…"

"Shh...I need this, angel. I need to feel you." Aziraphale suddenly thought he'd realized the reason for Crowley's strange behaviour. Of course, he was still upset about that whole armageddon debacle. Aziraphale put a hand behind Crowley's head and pulled him close, pressing their foreheads together. 

"It's alright, Crowley. We did it, we're alive. It's just us now, our side, and nobody else." Crowley shifted and Aziraphale let him make himself comfortable, with Crowley's face pressed into his throat. Aziraphale gently stroked Crowley's hair, and the demon's words were muffled by Aziraphale's throat when he spoke next.

"You said you would give me anything I needed, angel." He seemed distracted, and Aziraphale smiled.

"And I stand by that. Anything you need."

"...I need this, angel." Aziraphale sighed fondly.

"Oh, Crowl-" Sharp canines dug into the soft flesh of Aziraphale's throat and he froze, the rest of the name dying when his breath caught in his throat from shock and pain. Already he could hear almost obscene gulping sounds, and if he weren't entirely focused on the burning agony in his throat he might have flushed. 

"C-Crowley, it...it hurts…!" Crowley ignored him. He seemed to be drinking quickly, trying to weaken the angel enough that he would be easy to subdue before he could recover from the shock and properly fight back. It was working, too. By the time Aziraphale realized what was going on, realizing Crowley was drinking his blood, that he would have to force him off, he was too weak to fight back. Why hadn't Crowley asked first? Because he wanted more than Aziraphale was willing to give? Crowley's behaviour, the lack of recognition...it was painting a very unpleasant picture, one where Crowley was no longer on his side, and he clenched his fingers in Crowley's hair, trying to pull him away.

"Crowley...please…" The gulping continued, and Aziraphale was already too far gone to remember how to properly defend himself or break loose. His fingers were loosening their grip, and it was suddenly much, much harder to keep his hold on Crowley's hair.

"Crowley…" His strength was fading, and before he realized what was happening his arms had slipped from Crowley's hair and fallen to the bed. His heart was pounding in his chest, the beat all he could focus on, and he couldn't string a single coherent thought together. Crowley pulled away, and Aziraphale tensed briefly again at the feel of fangs pulling out of skin. A hand was gently placed on his cheek, and he forced himself back to consciousness, forced his eyes open to look at Crowley. Crowley's eyes were bright and all-consuming, and Aziraphale had a moment of recognition, just enough for a flash of fear to cross his eyes. He knew what this was, what Crowley was going to do to him, but almost the moment he realized what was happening the hypnosis took effect and he felt peace settle over him, his mind going pleasantly blank. Crowley needed this; why had he struggled? Crowley needed this, and he would give anything and everything to Crowley. Anything, even his very life. Crowley smiled, like he thought Aziraphale's blind obedience was endearing.

He was suddenly overcome with the need to rest, to recover his strength for next time (next time?), and Aziraphale closed his eyes without complaint, succumbing to his body's weakness and letting sleep claim him.

***

It had taken a lot of willpower to pull away from the angel without draining him dry, but Crowley knew it would be worth it in the end. After all, it wasn't every day you found an angel who was more or less willing to give up his blood to you. This angel, though...He spoke as though they'd been old friends, but Crowley had never seen the angel before in his life. Well, in any case, the angel was resting peacefully and would stay that way for a long time, which gave him time to investigate the building and find a few clues. The front of the bookshop said A.Z. Fell and Co, but that told him nothing. A.Z. Fell was obviously an alias, just like the name Anthony was an alias. The angel hadn't seemed to mind "angel" as a pet name, so Crowley shrugged and decided to stick with it.

More to the point: a  _ bookshop _ ? This angel had a  _ bookshop _ ? Books piled from floor to ceiling, all over the shelves, and Crowley couldn't fathom being friends or even acquaintances with an angel that was this much of a bookworm, and yet apparently, from the angel's behaviour, they were toying around the idea of being lovers. And what was that whole "our side" business? There was no "our side" there was the angel and him. On opposite sides. Really, the only thing the angel had going for him was his looks. 

...That must be it, now that he thought of it. Crowley was in the process of seducing this angel to fall. Be a real feather in his wing if he reported to Lord Beelzebub that he had single-handedly caused an angel to fall to lust. Not that Crowley was calling it that, of course, he probably had the angel thinking Crowley loved him. What a joke; everyone knew that demons couldn't love. Anyone who forgot that in the presence of a demon deserved every second in the pit of boiling sulphur. Still, if he got the ichor he needed because of a naive, hopeful angel, then he was going to milk that poor, stupid angel for every drop of power-giving ichor he could get.

Crowley sighed, sitting in one of the chairs he found. What a disaster that day had been. The details were nonexistent, but the last thing he remembered was having all of his energy sapped from him. He could list the angels and demons powerful enough to do that to him on both hands, so thankfully his list of people to avoid pissing off in future was mercifully short. After losing all his energy, he'd woken to two humans coming after him - and what a blow to his pride it had been to have not even been strong enough to fight them off. They shot him, everything went dark, and he'd woken to his angelic almost-lover tending to him. Well. Bringing him to a human vet, because this angel clearly had  _ no _ experience with snakes. Really, a mouse? For a demonic snake? He'd eaten it simply to indulge the foolish angel - and why had he even done that, anyways? He understood indulging the angel's whims to make him fall in love with him, but this angel was just a project. A big project, to be sure, making an angel fall was nothing to sneeze at, but still just a project. Catering to the whims of some angel whose name he didn't even remember absolutely should  _ not  _ have been instinct for him. 

And yet. 

When presented with the mouse, his instinct had been  _ oh, let him think he's being helpful, the poor bastard _ , which absolutely was  _ not  _ a demonic thought to have. People would think he was going soft for this angel, and he shuddered at the thought. 

Still, he reminded himself firmly, the angel was giving him ichor. And willingly, too. Well, he hadn't given his ichor willingly, but he'd willingly laid down next to the demon and let him get close enough to bite, which was as good as. And if the angel was giving him ichor, he could cater to the poor bastard's angelic whims. He could play soft for another day or so. He might not even need to. Considering the angel's naive fondness for him, hypnotizing him into thinking he wanted to give up his ichor had been laughably easy. Hypnotizing him into giving him more would be just as easy, with his powers growing inside him. The ichor was seeping into his body, giving him strength beyond anything he had imagined, but he still knew he was pathetically weak right now. If that angel hadn't already been infatuated with him...Well, he would hypnotize him into the kind of single-minded love people liked to associate with Romeo and Juliet. Poetic, really. Just like Romeo and Juliet, this angel's love for him was doomed to end in tragedy. Not death, but close enough.

Night fell, and Crowley sauntered into the angel's bedroom, where he was only just starting to stir. Taking again so soon would weaken the angel, but again, he would be sure not to kill him. He needed the angel. He was weak, and he needed the continuous supply of ichor to make him strong again.

***

Aziraphale struggled to open his eyes. Crowley had...he couldn't believe it. He'd taken and taken and taken, with no regard to Aziraphale's pleading, just like a...like a...like a demon. The loss of his ichor felt like more than just a simple blood drinking. His ichor was his everything, his entire being, the very source of his strength, and for Crowley to just take it without asking...It felt like a betrayal. The sharing of ichor between angels was a deeply intimate moment. It symbolized an angel caring enough for you to give their own lifeblood to you, a gift that was not be taken lightly. To be allowed to take ichor from another angel…was to be trusted with that angel's very life. To be allowed to see an angel at their most helpless, for them to willingly bare their soul to you in the form of golden ichor...For them to allow themselves to be fully at your mercy, or to allow yourself to be fully at the mercy of another, no matter how trusted a friend...it was a moment Aziraphale had experienced only once, and it was a memory he treasured fondly, so much so he hadn't even told Crowley of it, because it had been too intimate to share.

Aziraphale had gotten so lost in his thoughts that he only noticed Crowley's presence when he felt a hand on his cheek. Crowley was there again, and Aziraphale knew what he wanted. What he was going to take.

"Crowley, please," he begged, voice broken like the six thousand years of trust between them was breaking, but then Crowley's eyes met his, and they glowed, and Aziraphale's gaze softened.

"You said you'd give me anything I needed," Crowley murmured.

"Anything," Aziraphale breathed, with six thousand years of love behind his voice.

***

They stayed like that for weeks. Crowley took and took and took, the dull gulping sounds causing shivers of pleasure among the pain, and each time Aziraphale grew weaker and weaker...and less and less able to deny that he was almost enjoying this, with the pleasant sounds Crowley made when he drank from him. Perhaps he was delirious.

An important thing to note about drinking an angel's blood: angels don't have a finite amount of blood in their systems, like humans do. Their blood replenishes itself, and can do so over the course of about a full day. Doing so, however, is taxing to the angel. It wasn't so much Crowley's continued drinking of his blood that was weakening Aziraphale, it was the continued need to replenish what was lost. As the weeks wore on, Aziraphale stopped getting out of bed, and then he stopped waking up, only coming to for a few hours at most before Crowley would drink and he would sink under again. With all of his energy spent replenishing his lost ichor, the physical wounds from Crowley's fangs became less than important, and soon Aziraphale's neck was dotted with fang marks that closed, but never fully healed. In short, Aziraphale became bedridden and fully at Crowley's mercy, and the only thing keeping him alive was that Crowley was giving him just enough time to recover before taking again. It was - almost - peaceful. Aziraphale could certainly see the appeal of sleeping now, but perhaps that was simply because keeping his eyes open had become considerably more difficult over the past few weeks.

Crowley, for his part, was pleased at how things were going. After the first few times, he'd stopped really needing to hypnotize the angel. Where before it had been to tell the angel that he wanted to give his ichor away, now it became...more of a sedative, to keep the angel calm as he took. The first time Aziraphale had willingly presented his throat without the use of hypnosis, Crowley had blinked, doing a double-take. Apparently long-term hypnosis led to the victim actually believing the lies being continually fed to them. Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that the angel shivered with pleasure not when he bit down, but when he swallowed. Or, then again, maybe this had something to do with the fact that this sort of thing was deeply intimate among angels. Who knew? Either way, Crowley was still pitifully weak, but he was recovering nicely. Another few weeks, perhaps, of carefully measured feedings, and then he'd be back to himself. He just wished angel blood didn't take so damned long to  _ sink in _ , as it were. With fellow angels, the process of absorbing the power from ichor was nearly instantaneous. For demons, it took longer, and not as much power could be absorbed. A time-consuming, but altogether not terribly inconvenient, setback.

Tonight, Crowley crawled onto the bed exactly as he did every other time. The angel smiled up at him and turned his neck willingly, despite cringing from the pain.

"Take...whatever you want…" Crowley smiled and caressed the angel's cheek.

"You indulge me, angel…" he crooned, watching what little blood the angel had left rush to his cheeks. He definitely intended to indulge himself, this angel having made it quite plain why Crowley had been seducing him. He made it so easy, wanting everything and more, loving the process of being tempted into things. It was equal parts thrilling and endearing, and no doubt part of why he'd become such a willing donor so quickly. Crowley leaned down, sank his fangs into the angel, and groaned as the familiar taste of golden ichor washed over his senses. 

And then it was gone.

***

Aziraphale cried out in agony as his throat was ripped open, Crowley's comforting weight on top of him gone, pulled away. He wanted to know what happened but he was so weak already, and with the painful tear in his throat his blood was oozing out faster than Crowley had been taking and what little strength he had left was fading fast. He heard hissing and spitting, a commotion, a sharp, loud thud, felt something fall across the blanket over his legs, and then silence. He felt a weight on top of him, crushing him down, and the tongue he felt lapping at his throat felt too soft, rotten, almost. A jaw clamped down with unimaginable force, crushing instead of simply puncturing, and Aziraphale didn't have the strength left to scream but the agony was unimaginable.

"Crowley…!" He called, but received no response save the feel of something shifting against his ankle, and this new demon drank and drank and drank and drank, tearing into his throat over and over until he'd long since stopped responding. Even after the new demon left, the pressure - pain, there was pain too, he could feel, now that the agony in his throat had lessened - in his ankle persisted, seeping into the darkness that this time, he felt sure he would never wake up from.

***

His ankle hurt. It was persistent pain, constant, never changing, different from the sometimes dull ache, sometimes excruciating agony in his neck. 

He didn't know how long it had been, or who was drinking from him, or anything. He was in pain, his strength was exhausted, his heart was pounding in his ears, his body was numb…He was dying. He was sure of it. A little more, and then it would all be gone, and he wouldn't be able to recover.

A tongue swiped up his throat, cold and zombie-like and clearly belonging to that other demon, and with the abuse his neck had taken even that was agony beyond words. Aziraphale groaned, waiting for the crushing bite that was sure to follow, but it never came. He heard screaming - and what a relief it was that it wasn't him, this time - and warm blood splashed onto his body and face. There were sickening sounds, crunching, squelching, choked gurgling, and other sounds, sounds Aziraphale couldn't place and didn't want to. 

When it all finally stopped, Aziraphale felt fangs against his neck, puncturing instead of crushing, but his neck had been bitten into so much that it hardly mattered anymore. He heard the dull gulping sound that permeated his life and caused pleasant tingles all over his body, and then his delirious barely-present consciousness fled. Or rather, the oppressive numbness overtook the pain again. Truthfully, Aziraphale hadn't opened his eyes or had a single coherent thought in months, so at this point it was all varying degrees of unconsciousness in his steady and agonizing decline toward death.

***

Crowley woke. Really woke. He was surprised with how  _ okay  _ he was, considering his last memory had been being drained fucking dry by... _ something _ . One second he was fine, the next his strength was going away faster than he could get it back. And now he woke up in a bed, feeling tickety-fucking-boo? Something fishy was going on. He sat up - because he could, because apparently he was  _ just fine _ \- and-

What the ever loving, holy  _ mother of Satan _ , was  ** _this_ ** ??

There was blood and limbs literally everywhere. Remnants of a demonic presence, but considering that presence was currently strewn all over the floor, he wasn't worried. A foot, an ear, half a torso, and _dear somebody_ _that was a lot of blood_. A demon had been torn to literal shreds in this room, and here he was at the center of it just having a nap! There was blood on the bed sheets, even, and his clothes were a state...Seriously, was this some kind of divine prank? _Ha ha, look at Crowley, he has no fucking clue what's going on_? 

He got out of bed and stood up, avoiding demon mush where possible, and surveyed the room. Okay, obviously a bedroom, and aside from the demon guts all over the place the only other thing of note was...He choked.

Aziraphale. Except grey-faced, and gaunt, and exhausted and sunken-looking, and still, and all sorts of words that worked just as well with a corpse and that he never wanted to have to associate with his angel. His head was tilted to one side, clearly the angel was too weak to hold it up. Sleeping, unconscious, or...He swallowed. With that complexion, sleeping was just about off the table.

"...Aziraphale?" He didn't even care how pathetically weak and pleading his voice sounded. When he got no response he reached out and touched his face - and he was  _ cold _ , so cold. Unconscious was being pulled farther and farther off the table each second. He swallowed again, not letting himself acknowledge the dread creeping up inside him.

"Aziraphale, come on, wake up." He shifted the hand on Aziraphale's cheek, and his littlest finger skimmed over a bump in Aziraphale's always smooth, flawless skin. Aziraphale choked on a gasp, mouth twitching, and pain meant Aziraphale was alive so angelic choirs were singing in Crowley's mind at the sound and it became his solemn mission to keep him that way, no matter what, but why was he in pain? He moved to the other side of the bed, tilting Aziraphale's cheek to get a better look, and-

Sweet fucking Jesu - Sweet Sa - Swee -  ** _holy fucking shit!!_ **

Aziraphale's throat on the left side looked like a piece of meat that had been chewed up and spit out. Like a ravenous dog had had a field day with his neck. The whole thing, from shoulder to jaw was littered with bite marks, some almost healed, some barely-closed. This was...this took time. This wasn't one attack, it was hundreds. Over time. With Aziraphale no doubt completely helpless to do anything. 

** _He was going to find the son of a bitch that did this, and-_ ** oh. Tear them to shreds. Except there was a demon torn to shreds right here in this very room, wasn't there? Crowley took a breath. Okay, so something happened that sapped his strength and when he got it back he searched for Aziraphale and found that some demon had made him his fucking chew toy and tore the shit out of said demon. That was all well and good. Well then. With the mystery of the demon solved, Crowley miracled his remnants into somewhere else.

Now, the next problem. Bite marks on the throat were very, very suggestive that the demon had been drinking Aziraphale's blood, and if this had been going on for some time, Aziraphale's regenerative abilities were…well, if they had been completely exhausted he would be dead, but it was pretty close, it looked like. As a demon, he couldn't just miracle it away. Either find another angel to give him ichor - not likely, for so many reasons - or do it the human way. 

Human way it would have to be.

Crowley stood, heading over to the little kitchen Aziraphale never used. On the way he stopped, distracted by a stain on the wooden flooring, and porcelain shards. A dropped mug, and cocoa. This must have been where it happened. The demon had jumped Aziraphale, while he was reading his book. Who knew how long ago that had been. Long enough for the stain to have been completely dried, but that would have taken two weeks at most, so that was hardly a good indicator. Sighing, he miracled the mess away then went back to the kitchen to get a wet cloth for Aziraphale. 

When he got back he gingerly set the cloth over Aziraphale's neck, then pulled the blankets off him to check for other wounds. He found two puncture wounds - fangs, no doubt - in Aziraphale's left ankle. The fact that they were still there meant they had happened after his regenerative abilities had been exhausted. Crowley couldn't fathom where they came from, he could only hope Aziraphale would have answers.

Tending to Aziraphale was a slow process. He had no idea how long he was out, or how long Aziraphale had been trapped here, on his own damn bed, dying in the slowest, most excruciating way possible. Which meant he had no idea how long it would take him to recover. It could be months. Crowley knew he would sit by Aziraphale's side the whole way through, but an estimated time frame of recovery would be nice. Judging by the damage to Aziraphale's neck...better to estimate on the longer side of things.

Crowley winced every time he saw Aziraphale's neck as he tended to it. How many times had he dreamt about that neck, fantasized about it with Aziraphale sitting right there in front of him? How he'd dared to hope, now that Aziraphale didn't have a 'side' to worry about, that he might just admit to loving Crowley. He could feel it, too, how close they were getting. How he'd been more than happy to wait, because he could see the progress, watch Aziraphale dare to steal a touch, get just a little bit closer than before. And he'd fantasized. Crossed his legs to push away the growing stiffness as he fantasized about kissing Aziraphale's throat, and lavishing him with all the love he deserved, making him feel so good...and now look. Aziraphale's poor throat, his best, his most beautiful, his softest feature...how long would it be before his throat stopped hurting at the slightest touch? How long before Crowley could lavish it with love...and not unintentionally hurt him? The wounds would go away, but how long would the sensitivity last? How long would it take before Aziraphale could turn his head without pain? Aziraphale's best feature, a place where he was no doubt already sensitive, had been used against him. His throat had been used to give untold agonies, when it deserved only the gentlest touches...Crowley sighed, and dabbed at the neck, grimacing when his angel groaned in pain. Aziraphale could not heal soon enough.

He did heal, eventually. It was almost four months before the wounds on his neck finally closed up, but Aziraphale still winced when Crowley touched. He'd be sensitive for ages. It was about a week after that when Aziraphale finally,  _ finally  _ opened his eyes, and Crowley was right there beside him, looking deep into those beautiful blue eyes he had missed so much.

"Angel…" Aziraphale's eyes focused on him, if a little hazily, and he saw the angel smile.

"Crowley…" Aziraphale tilted his head to the side, grimacing in pain as he did so, baring the recently-healed left side of his neck. And then the bomb dropped.

"Take...whatever...you need…"

Crowley was...pretty sure he passed out. Or at least, his brain went sideways. He couldn't describe it, it was like his brain stopped processing. He didn't collapse or anything like that, he'd have been nothing short of  _ mortified  _ if he had, but it was a good long time before the shock wore off. When it did, Aziraphale still had his head tilted, and he was watching him expectantly, and Crowley laid his palm over Aziraphale's eyes, miracling the angel into a deep sleep. He couldn't deal with this, with Aziraphale, his angel, looking at him like that, waiting for him to go in for the kill...again.

He did this.  _ He  _ did this.  _ He  _ was the one who...who...who did  _ that _ to his angel. How...what… ... _ What _ ? And...oh God, oh Satan, oh  _ somebody _ , Aziraphale would have just  _ let him _ , because of  _ course _ he would have, he was so sweet and kind and precious and good and if Crowley needed ichor Aziraphale would have been only too happy to provide, because it would have been Crowley asking, and  ** _why the hell couldn't he remember it?! _ ** If he was going to do something as...disgusting and unforgivable and horrible as take Aziraphale's blood, couldn't he at least remember it? Then again...maybe it was better if he didn't, because what if Aziraphale had struggled? The thought of him forcing Aziraphale down, ignoring his pleas for him to stop was more than he could bear. He stood with a groan, strode to the corner of the room and sank to the ground, head against the wall.

He wanted to leave, he wanted to run away and get obscenely drunk, drunker than he ever had before, but of course he couldn't because that would mean leaving Aziraphale here, defenceless, and no  _ fucking way  _ was he going to do that. Not after what he'd done! Not when some other demon could sniff out the pathetically weak angel and decide to take a sip of Aziraphale's blood, something that had  _ clearly already happened  _ because he'd woken up to demon parts, after all.

Fuck, how was he  _ ever  _ going to make up for this? How, in the entirety of the  _ rest of eternity _ , would he ever save Aziraphale's ass enough times to make up for  _ this _ ?! 

'Start with something small', Aziraphale would say, 'Actions speak louder than words.' Okay, small. Something to let Aziraphale know Crowley wasn't out to hurt him anymore. He'd make him comfortable while he was healing. Simple. Small. Aziraphale would approve. Except he'd already made Aziraphale as comfortable as he could…

Except how could he possibly think that Aziraphale would be comfortable on that bed?!  _ That _ bed, with its springs, and its scratchy blankets?! No, Aziraphale needed to be absolutely  _ cocooned  _ in warmth and comfort and safety. He needed an angelic touch. He needed wings, and feathers, and comfort. All he needed was one feather and he could miracle the rest, but no way in hell would he pluck one of Aziraphale's feathers, that hurt, and he was  _ not  _ going to hurt Aziraphale. One of his own, then. That was probably better, anyways, it would literally show Aziraphale that Crowley was all about softness and comfort and demon or no demon he would be softness and comfort for his angel. With a snap of his fingers the bed was gone, as were the nightside table and all the other things that did not directly contribute to Aziraphale's comfort. Aziraphale was floating in the air, and Crowley snapped his fingers and yanked one of his down feathers from his wings. 

One became  _ millions _ , possibly more, blanketing the entire floor and halfway up the walls too, rearranged to be as comfortable as possible. And then, because that couldn't possibly be comfortable enough, the bottom of his sea of feathers was lined with duvets and quilts and blankets and pillows and towels and every soft thing he could think of. All black. He wouldn't want to strain Aziraphale's eyes with some garish pink. Aziraphale was gently lowered to the bed of down, and Crowley was gratified when Aziraphale sighed as his body was supported by the soft feathers. A few more shifts, and Aziraphale had feathers pressing against his side, too, keeping him nice and toasty warm. The whole bedroom looked like...like a...like a big...nice...bowl, made entirely out of feathers. Aziraphale was at the center, where the feathers were weighed down by his body, and the feathers rose up at the sides to cradle his body, like a hammock or something. Aziraphale looked more comfortable, that was all that mattered.

With Aziraphale finally looking content as he slept, Crowley retreated to a corner of the room and shifted into his snake form. Hopefully Aziraphale only associated blood-drinking bastard Crowley with human Crowley. Hopefully. 

***

Feathers. He awoke to feathers, ink-black and so beautiful, and there were so many of them, filling the room like a swimming pool, and oh, it must be a sin to be so comfortable and warm and safe. 

And then he realized how odd that was. His memory of recent events was hazy at best, but those memories certainly were not comfortable, or warm, or safe. He remembered...Crowley drinking his blood. Crowley needed it, so that was alright, but then...pain. And another demon drinking his blood. And Crowley nowhere to be found. What happened to Crowley? Where was he? But...he must be here. The whole room, every feather, had Crowley's essence on it. He must be here somewhere. He turned his head, groaning and putting a hand to his throat when pain shot up his neck. His skin was healed, at least. Turning his head a little more, he found Crowley himself. He was coiled around himself, a black and red snake among the feathers, staring at him with unblinking eyes, waiting. Assessing. Aziraphale smiled.

"Crowley...Dear boy, I'm so glad you're alright."

Crowley said nothing.

"Crowley, I...When I...That demon...did he hurt you?" There was a pause.

"...Doesssssn't sssseem to have." Aziraphale sighed, his eyes closing, and Crowley wondered if he was simply too weak to keep them open.

"Thank heavens...When you vanished...and then that other demon...well, I thought for sure…" Crowley burned, he quite literally ached with the need to ask Aziraphale what happened, but, coward that he was, the words caught in his throat.

"...You're weak, angel. Go back to ssssssssssssleep…" He would admit to drawing out the hiss a little longer than strictly necessary, as though hoping Aziraphale, in his exhausted state, would confuse the hiss for a shush. It worked, somehow. The truth was that Aziraphale was simply so drained that sleep sounded beyond heavenly, and it took no more than the word sleep for him to be convinced. Aziraphale took a deep breath and let it out, and when his breathing resumed it was smooth and regular and even. Crowley rested his head on his coiled body and tried to ignore the guilt gnawing at him.

It took Aziraphale weeks to regain the strength to sit up. He spent a lot of that time revelling in the softness of the feathers he was cocooned in and looking reluctant to even try to detach himself from them, a fact that made warmth blossom along Crowley's scales.  _ He approved. _ He didn't know why that simple fact was so important to him, but it was. Still, as much as Aziraphale loved the soft bed his entire room had become, he knew he had to start moving eventually. Crowley also knew that there was a very important conversation that needed to happen. But only when Aziraphale was fully recovered.

"Don't pushhhh yoursssself, angel," Crowley said if he so much as winced, and he hovered like a protective mother until Aziraphale yielded to his worry and laid back down to rest. Aziraphale did eventually recover, however. He may not have been anywhere near as strong as he once was, yet, but he could move around, and looked fully awake and alert when he sat up.

And so it was that one gloomy-looking Saturday morning, Aziraphale held his arms out to the snake in the corner of the room, wearing a tender smile on his face.

"Crowley, come here." Crowley slithered over, because he had been craving the angel's touch, and because he would never deny his angel anything, ever again, for the rest of eternity. So he slithered over and curled himself in Aziraphale's lap, flicking his tongue out in pleasure as Aziraphale immediately moved to stroke his body.

"Crowley, as much as I love you like this, may I see your face? I would much prefer to speak to you properly…" Crowley transformed immediately, sitting next to his angel, looking like he wanted to lean closer and pull away all at once. Aziraphale reached out and, with incredible tenderness, stroked Crowley's cheek, closing his eyes and pressing their foreheads together. 

"Crowley, I...I'm beyond touched...To think that you would be nesting for me…" Crowley blinked, shocked by the direction of the conversation.

"Nesting? I'm not- ...Oh." He looked around then, and he saw it, really saw it. How he'd filled Aziraphale's whole room with down from his own wings and a mishmash of other soft things, how it was in the shape of a bowl, how the entire room had been transformed to give Aziraphale the most comfort possible. Everything, this whole room, all for Aziraphale. It was hardly what a 'modern' nest looked like, nobody had nested by making an actual  _ nest  _ for eons, but, well, Crowley had been in something of an emotional overload at the time. Really, he had no idea how he'd missed it. What other conclusion could you draw when you filled a room half to the brim with feathers? 

"I...I was worried…" Crowley said meekly, but Aziraphale was already shaking his head.

"Nesting is an instinct, my dear, it doesn't need to be explained. I can't possibly express my joy, knowing that I would be the one you would nest for, and I wholeheartedly accept this nest you've made for me, Crowley." Crowley's heart was going to burst out of his chest, and he surged forward and kissed his angel, curling his fingers desperately in soft blond curls. Aziraphale's surprised grunt was muffled, and he pulled away to lay back down on the feathers so he could truly be comfortable as Crowley kissed him. Crowley curled his fingers in Aziraphale's hair once more. He loved it, he loved every second of it, but guilt was gnawing at him and he couldn't put it off any longer. He pulled away, gently stroking Aziraphale's cheek.

"Angel…" He took a deep breath. "...I don't know what happened. I don't remember. I...I did this to you, didn't I? ...I need to know. Please, angel...tell me what happened." Aziraphale smiled thinly, stroking Crowley's cheek once before closing his eyes.

"I'm afraid my own memory is hazy at best, so it's quite possible we'll both have to accept we won't know the whole story. I remember…" He cast his mind back to the clear memories before his strength started being sapped away.

"You called me. You asked me to come find you. You sounded so weak, I was so afraid for you. I found you in a park, you'd been tranquilized by some humans. I brought you home, but then I brought you to a vet to see if they could help."

"A vet? What exactly did you expect a vet to be able to do for a demonic power-draining?" Aziraphale flushed.

"Well, I...wanted to be sure it was just that, and that there was nothing else. No disease, or…" Crowley sighed.

"Alright, then what?"

"You didn't remember me. At all. I could see it in your eyes. But then you did. Or...I thought you did. Perhaps you didn't. Well, anyway, I broke a mug, and I cut my hand trying to pick up the pieces…" Crowley groaned and closed his eyes. He already knew where this was going.

"...And then you slithered up my leg and started lapping up the blood. At the time I thought it was terribly kind of you (Crowley groaned again, knowing it would have all been a ploy) and proof that you remembered me and were tending to my wound, but looking back...well, I think you just needed my blood. ...Which I was more than happy to provide, Crowley, so don't worry in that regard."

"How much did I take?" He asked, ignoring Aziraphale's kind words. He didn't deserve them.

"I'm...not sure. I went upstairs to bed, you came with me, changed back into a human, we got into bed together, and...things get a tad fuzzy after that." Crowley groaned again, tugging at his hair.

"Oh, don't worry so much, darling. You may not have asked first, but I was more than willing to provide. I think things went rather smoothly for some time, but then…"

"But then? What did I do?"

"Oh no, this wasn't you. In fact, I was terribly worried about you. You were drinking from me, and then suddenly you were pulled right off and another demon took your place. He was...quite rough with me, I'm afraid…" Aziraphale put his hand to his neck, and Crowley wished his neck wasn't too sensitive for him to kiss it better. He would, if he could, today and every day after.

"...I don't remember much of anything after that. I remember a curious pain in my ankle, and then the last thing I remember is hearing all sorts of terrible sounds, and then...well, I woke up in this absolutely lovely nest." Crowley's heart fluttered at the compliment, but he wasn't deterred.

"So after I lost my power I used your blood to get it back, and then some demon caught a whiff of poor, defenceless angel and overpowered me. And then...I killed him. How? If he overpowered me the first time, how did I get strong enough to kill him the second time around?" Aziraphale went to shrug, winced, and then settled for making a shrug face. (People make shrug faces all the time, it's rather like a duck face with a grimace thrown in. Shrug faces are usually accompanied by some variety of sound that usually means "whatever" or "eh")

"Like I said, my memory is very foggy. I don't think I've been awake much recently." That comment sparked a question of dates in Crowley's mind, and he frowned.

"Do you remember what day it was when you came to get me at the park?"

"Why yes," Aziraphale said after a short pause, "I believe it was Thursday the eleventh." Crowley paled. The last "Thursday the eleventh" had been almost a year ago.

"...Please, Crowley, I'm alright, thanks to you. What matters is that you saved me, and you built me this lovely nest, to boot." Crowley pressed his forehead into Aziraphale's chest, but he refused to be comforted right now.

"Still, I'm sorry."

"It's quite alright, Crowley. You weren't yourself."

"I could have killed you."

"I don't think you could have." Crowley looked up at Aziraphale like he'd suddenly grown a second head.

"Well, of course you  _ could have  _ killed me, but I don't think you  _ would have _ ." When the 'two heads' look persisted, Aziraphale sighed.

"You never took too much, and you always gave me time to recover. I was weakened, yes, but not so much that it threatened my life in any way. If you had wanted to drain me dry, you could have, but you didn't."

"Because I was keeping you alive so I could have more of your blood!" Crowley spat, as though it should have been obvious.

"But you had a reason to keep me alive, so you wouldn't have killed me. The only threat to my life was that other demon, and from what I heard I assure you that you gave him a most violent and painful end. You couldn't have killed me," he finished, in a 'this should be obvious' tone similar to Crowley's, and Crowley had had just about enough of Aziraphale's 'see the best in everyone' attitude when he couldn't even turn his neck or shrug his shoulders because of him. 

"You're  _ ridiculous _ , angel," Crowley said, and then transformed back into a snake and curled up in Aziraphale's lap, effectively signalling an end to the conversation even if they could technically have kept talking. Aziraphale gently lifted the front of Crowley's body and planted a kiss to his snout. 

"I love you, Crowley. I'll always love you, and I love you all the more when you think you don't deserve it." Crowley's tongue flicked out in irritation, and Aziraphale, who had readily picked up on the fact that Crowley was generally in a better mood when he was resting, laid back down on the nest of feathers and closed his eyes. As he predicted, the effect was immediate, Crowley calling off the 'argument' to devote his energy to making sure Aziraphale got the best rest possible, curling up on his stomach as a comfort weight. Azirphale dutifully hummed his pleasure and wrapped his arms around Crowley, to let him know that he was doing a good job.

"...You'll stay with me, won't you, Crowley?" he asked, admittedly laying it on a bit thick with the 'helpless angel' act. If it distracted Crowley from his self-loathing, though, it was worth it.

"...Alwaysssss."

***

"It was you, I think." Crowley sighed, his previou s relaxation forgotten.

"It was all me."

"No, I don't mean that. I meant the pain in my ankle. I think...that was you. Feeding on my blood, to heal, and regain your strength."

"...I assume you have a point that for some reason isn't to make me feel worse about myself?"

"You were trying to save me."

"By drinking obscene amounts of blood from you when you already had another demon doing that. By making it so that you had two demons sucking you dry instead of one."

"Yes, but there really wasn't much alternative. I'm sure even then you regretted having to do it, if only because of the very real possibility that it would kill me and you would lose your source of strength."

"...Whatever." Aziraphale let the conversation drop. Even now, Crowley didn't like to talk about it, preferring to spend his time cuddled up with Aziraphale, as a human or a snake, comforting him. Nesting. Everything for him. 

Aziraphale was doing his best to make Crowley comfortable, as well. Nesting was meant to be a time where one declared their love for another. It was always a difficult time - what if your loved one refused the nest? - but it had been worse for Crowley. To have his potential mate dying in front of his eyes, to have his nesting instinct spurred on by guilt instead of allowed to develop naturally through love...to nest because you had almost killed your mate...Aziraphale couldn't imagine the emotional torment Crowley was going through. He never blamed him regardless, but he was especially gentle now. Crowley tended to his physical wounds, and Aziraphale tended to Crowley's emotional ones. They made it work, just as they always had.


	2. Kink

They were kissing. They did that now, quite frequently, cocooned in Crowley's - no,  _ their _ \- nest. Aziraphale hummed his appreciation, and Crowley hadn't meant for things to get steamy, but they had, and now he was kissing Aziraphale's cheeks, and then his jaw, and then he was dipping down the right side of his neck, and it was everything Crowley had imagined and more.

Aziraphale was sensitive, so sensitive. From the first press of lips Aziraphale was moaning and clutching at Crowley like a lifeline, and he loved it. He lavished that side of his neck with gentle kisses and licks, with all the love and affection he deserved. It was lovely, it really was, but Crowley didn't think he would truly been satisfied until he'd lavished the other side with love and affection. The side that had been hurt and needed the love to heal. He pulled back, gave Aziraphale a peck on the lips, then moved to the other side.

He hovered for a second, hesitating. The physical evidence had long since healed, but there was no telling whether this side of Aziraphale's neck would still be oversensitive, whether his tentative touches would only cause pain. He gulped, anxious…

...And Aziraphale groaned, bucking his hips up into Crowley's. It was enough that Crowley froze, wide-eyed. And then he smiled, like he'd just discovered that his precious angel was hiding a whole series of kinky sexual deviancies behind his timid smile. Which he had.

"...You like that, angel?" he asked. He gulped again, to test his theory, and Aziraphale sucked in a gasp. Gently, ever so gently, Crowley pressed his lips to Aziraphale's throat, and he moaned, giving him confirmation that he could kiss further...gently. He kissed his throat again, then spoke.

"I always wondered why you got into so much trouble," he whispered, swallowing again just for the effect it was having on Aziraphale, who looked just about ready to come untouched.

"Crowley…"

"You like it, don't you? You like being the helpless little princess, just waiting for your strong, valiant knight to come save you." He chuckled darkly.

"And when your strong, valiant knight just happens to be the one who pins you down and renders you so utterly helpless...you like it even more." He pressed another kiss to Aziraphale's throat, soothing him. The calm before the storm, really, because he reached down and palmed Aziraphale through his clothes right after, delighting in the desperate keen that came from Aziraphale's lips.

"I won't accuse you of enjoying what happened to you, I know it hurt too much for that," he said as he began unzipping Aziraphale's pants, "but there was something there, wasn't there? Something you'd really, really like to explore in a pain-free environment?"

"Yes, Crowley, please…" Crowley chuckled, pressing another kiss to Aziraphale's throat, but then he sobered.

"You know I can't bite you," he said, his tone serious, "I would never hurt you like that again, no matter how good it felt for you."

"I know, Crowley, I understand," Aziraphale replied, breathlessly, "Whatever you can give me, please…!" Crowley chuckled again as he finally wrapped his hand around Aziraphale's member and began to stroke.

"Alright then...here we go." Crowley swallowed, and then he swallowed again, and again, miracling more saliva into his mouth so he could keep gulping endlessly, and began stroking in quick, firm motions. Aziraphale outright screamed, writhing on the bed and clutching to Crowley's hair so hard it hurt. The whole thing didn't last more than ten seconds, because Aziraphale had been so riled up by that point that a few seconds of that quick, insistent stroking was all it took to send him tumbling over the edge. He shuddered violently, and when he finished he collapsed to the bed, panting heavily. His eyes were closed, and Crowley stroked himself quickly, knowing it wouldn't take long with the image of Aziraphale so completely and utterly undone in his mind, and he shuddered as he found his own completion.

Aziraphale still hadn't recovered by the time Crowley finished, and he twitched and jerked through the aftershocks, Crowley gently running his fingers through his hair to help soothe him. Eventually he laid down beside his angel, gently pressing kisses to his cheeks and face and scratching his scalp. When Aziraphale finally came back to himself, his eyes fluttered open and settled on Crowley, who smiled.

"There you are," he murmured gently, "Welcome back, angel."

"Goodness…" Aziraphale murmured, closing his eyes briefly, "I absolutely loved every moment of that, but it was...dare I say it...perhaps a touch too intense for my tastes. I rather think we should save that particular…"

"Kink." 

"Well...Yes, alright, kink. I think we should save that particular...kink...for...special occasions. I hope you don't mind?" 

"Not at all, angel," Crowley replied, the gentle smile on his face slowly morphing into a shit-eating grin, "The feel of your hands in my hair alone will keep me going for  _ centuries _ ."


End file.
